


I Still Dream For You

by underthenorthstar



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love, RPF, Romance, but i'm actually proud of the writing styles so i'm finally posting here, honestly i'm a bit embarassed i wrote RPF, i wrote these when i was really into 5sos in 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27239224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underthenorthstar/pseuds/underthenorthstar
Summary: A collection of 4 one shots.1. When You're In Love- A.I x Reader2. Blood On The Rug- L.H x Reader3. Arizona Sunrise- M.C x Reader4. Happier Now- C.H x Reader
Relationships: Ashton Irwin/You, Calum Hood/You, Luke Hemmings/You, Michael Clifford/You
Kudos: 9





	1. When You're In Love

**Author's Note:**

> Everything good happens after two am, when you’re in love.
> 
> TW: swearing, implied sexual content, mentions of alcohol

They say nothing good happens after 2am. 

You’d beg to differ. 

2am is the perfect quiet time, the time to sit and just be. The time where no want wants attention, or needs anything, no demands and no schedules. Two hearts can just exist together, two souls can rest and enjoy the peace that sits between them. 

It’s warm in LA tonight, spring thick in the air. The sky is clear; every star seems to wink at you as if they know. As if they can tell how precious these moments are to you. The city seems to hush itself, as if it knows too. It’s quiet and tranquil and he looks so utterly at ease it makes you heart twist with joy. 

Freshly showered, slightly tipsy, hazy post-sex aura buzzing around him as he leans against the railing wearing low slung sweats and an old cotton tee. His un-styled hair dances gently in the slight breeze; he looks so damn soft and snuggle-worthy you can’t help but leave your perch on the deck chair and slink up beside him. As easy as breathing he makes room for you in front of the rail, arms wrapping around you and chin resting on the top of your head. A position you have not grown tired of since first falling into it. 

“Good show tonight,” he breaks the serene silence, but it’s never a bad thing when his honey voice fills it. “Nice to play at home.”

“You guys were amazing,” you agree, a smile gracing your lips at the memories of a few hours previously. “The new songs sound great live.”

“Hmmmmm,” he hums in agreement, and you feel him nuzzle his face into your hair. “I could tell you were enjoying them. You busted out your best dance moves and everything.”

“Hey,” you giggle, slapping his arm playfully. “No making fun of my dance moves, drummer boy. These hips do not lie.”

He spins you around so you’re facing him, your hands coming to rest on his broad chest. He’s grinning down at you saucily, that tell tale gleam shining in his hazel eyes. 

“Don’t I know it,” he waggles his eyebrows, and you barely have time to huff out a laugh before his large hands are cupping your face and bringing your mouth up to his. 

He tastes like tequila, mint and coming home, and you melt into him. Everything always seems to fall into place when he’s here and in your arms, like you didn’t even realize something was wrong until he fixed it with moments like this. 

He pulls back after a moment, eyes still closed as he rests his forehead against yours. “I miss this so fucking bad when I’m gone,” he whispers, thumbs caressing your cheeks gently. “I miss you so much sometimes, I can barely stand it.”

“I miss you too, Ash,” you curl your fingers into his shirt, nuzzling your nose softly against his. 

“Sometimes I get so scared I’m gonna come home and you aren’t going to be here,” his voice shakes with the doubt you know plagues him when he’s gone. He comes off so confident and sure, but you know the soft and tender heart that lies in his chest. “I’m away so much, I wouldn’t blame you if you ever thought it wasn’t worth it, if-“

“Hush now,” you coo, pulling away slightly so you can see his face clearly. His eyes are open, and the quiet fear in them makes your whole being hurt. “Our life can be hard, yes, but you know I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I love you with everything I have. This is worth it, you are worth it. My darling, beautiful boy, you are so worth it. And I will spend every day of my life, as long as you’ll have me, making sure you know it.”

He sighs, and you can see the fear slowly bleeding out of his gaze. “That may be a very long time, sweet girl.” He removes his hands from your face so he can wrap his arms around your waist. “A very, very long time.”

You smile, and your heart bounces with joy when his warm boyish grin spreads across his face. “I’m in it to win it, drummer boy.”

He shakes his head, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Such a way with words. Fuck, but I do love you.” He kisses you again, deeply, and your happy heart ignites inside your chest. You clutch each other close, mouths becoming hungrier and hungrier, the spring air around you beginning to feel a lot warmer. Breaths come shorter, hands grope and slide in growing desperation to feel skin.

He breaks away first, breathing heavily, eyes bright and once again mischievous. “So... round two then?” He squeezes your waist playfully for emphasis. You look up at him, kiss stung and rumpled and perfect. You couldn’t love him more. 

“Save a drum, bang a drummer,” you shrug, grinning, and his joyful laugh lights up the night sky like Fourth of July fireworks. 

They are so wrong. 

Everything good happens after two am, when you’re in love.


	2. Blood on the Rug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They didn’t call it a panic attack for nothing.
> 
> TW: Anxiety attack, mentions of blood

There’s blood on the rug.

It had been bad, this time. Sometimes they were small, manageable. Easily dealt with by breathing and focusing. Other times, they hit with the force of a Category 5 hurricane and it was all you could do to hang on. Iron bands around your chest, gasping, heaving, crying so hard that the tears from your eyes mixed with blood from your nose. Left shaken for hours afterward, feeling empty, torn apart, guilty. 

They didn’t call it a panic attack for nothing.

You close your eyes. You don’t want to look at it anymore. The red stain mocks you, shames you. Weak, it whispers. Broken, useless, a burden. 

“Here, sweetheart.”

You hear him sink to his knees in front of you. A familiar large hand cups your chin, and you feel a warm washcloth gently gliding over your face. He rids your skin of blood and tears, as he always does when he’s around. Your heart twists once more with guilt. Always picking up the pieces, he is. 

“I’m sorry,” your voice is hoarse, quiet, defeated. “I’m not even sure what triggered it. I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” the washcloth leaves, and calloused fingers replace it, pushing back your hair, stroking your face. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

The pure love and tenderness in his voice makes salty tears burn once more in your eyes. A pained whimper escapes your lips.   
“Mikey’s party, the guys-“

“Fuck the party,” he says, pulling you forward so you can press your face into his neck. His arms wind tight around you, one hand stroking your back the way he knows helps calm you down. You feel yourself begin to relax slightly, nuzzling your nose further into his warm skin. “They can party just fine without me tonight. And you know the guys, and especially Mikey, will understand.”

“I know,” you say, because deep down you do. But guilt has strong roots, and they are hard to dig out. “But that doesn’t change the way I feel.”

He is silent for a moment, just holding you, letting you continue to slowly come down. It will probably take all night, and even then you may not feel completely right in the morning. But even though he is not a cure, he is a balm, a help. One you clutch covetously. Your beautiful golden haired boy with the loving hands and kind heart. 

“I know you think you’re broken,” his lips press softly to the top of your head. “I know you think you’re a burden to me, to anyone that knows you. But you aren’t.”

You pull back and finally open your eyes. His own are sincere, loving, blue as the sky on a perfect summer’s day. “You are strong. You seek out help when you need it. Your therapist, your meds, your coping strategies; they aren’t signs of weakness, they are signs of strength. And yeah, sometimes these big ones are gonna hit you no matter what. But that doesn’t mean you haven’t made progress. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have people around you to love you, support you.”

A tear slips out of your eye; he catches it with this thumb. “I love you, sweetheart. On the good days and the bad. And I’m gonna be here for you, even when I’m not actually here. I’m only a phone call away. Anytime, any place. You’ll always have me, baby. We’re in this together.”

He doesn’t sew you back together, but he damn sure helps thread the needle. You fall back into his chest, a little calmer, forever grateful. He rocks you, cradling you to him like his arms are full of something precious, something worth loving. 

Because I am, you tell yourself firmly. Because I am. 

“Let’s go to bed,” you say, the exhaustion you always feel after an attack slowly leeching into your bones. “I just want to sleep.”

“I’ll hold you all night long,” he promises, and you know he’ll keep it. You slowly separate, and as you do your eyes land on the red stain on the rug. 

It doesn’t seem quite so mocking anymore. 

“The rug,” you frown, “what about the rug?”

“Fuck it,” he shrugs, and you look at him to see his lips curled into a small smile. “I never liked it anyways. We should never have let the guys help us decorate the house, tasteless bastards.”

You can’t help it, your lips quirk up too. He smiles wider at this, and leans forward to press his mouth to yours. It’s gentle and sweet, like him. 

“I love you,” you mumble into his kiss, and even though everything isn’t alright yet, your heart is already a tiny bit lighter. I’m safe, you think. I’m loved, I’m strong, I’m making progress.

And in the morning, you watch your boyfriend throw out the rug with a smile on your face.


	3. Arizona Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky burns behind you, and everything is golden.
> 
> TW: Swearing

“It says closed.”

He grins at you, mischievous and laughing on his sweet angel face. His eyes twinkle behind those thick black glasses you adore, and you already feel your reserve gently being chipped away. 

He’s got that effect on you. You can never truly say no to him.

“Aw, come on,” he says, ignoring the bold red sign and hopping ably over the small fence. “We’re staying here, we should be able to use it whenever we want.” 

The Arizona sun is barely peeking up over the horizon, but the weak rays dance over his features and throw his exhaustion into sharp relief. Neither of you have slept much tonight. Sharing a bed with restless demons sometimes leaves little room for actual rest. It’s something the both of you have in common. 

“You don’t have a bathing suit,” your protest sounds weak, words dying slowly on your tongue as he begins removing his clothes. Your cheeks flush hot, your fingers twitch with the desire to run delicately over the pale flesh that he lives in. He’s so beautiful, a ghostly god that haunts every corner of your mind. He has no idea how much you ache to kneel at his shrine, how much you desire to be his offering. He bleeds kindness, oozes warmth, emits so much light the sun wants to hide its face in shame. 

And somewhere in the last 6 months of peddling his band’s wares, somewhere between every conversation, every warm look and casual touch, every laugh and every bad joke, you’d realized he’d burrowed under your rib cage and made his home next to your heart. 

“Who needs one?” he breaks you out of your thoughts, stripped down to his underwear and grinning. “Come on, live a little!” 

The sun is rising and you cannot deny him anything. You find yourselves scrambling over the fence, cheeks flaming as you quickly disrobe. Ever the gentleman, he turns away and busies himself with sliding into the water, squeaking slightly as he does so.

“Shit! It’s cold!”

You roll your eyes, pushing your own discarded clothes away from where they might get wet. “It’s an outdoor pool in the middle of Hot As Fuck, Arizona, what else did you expect.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and you cannot help but giggle as you too immerse yourself in the cool water. You float gently across from each other, an arms length away. Close, but not as close as you dream of.

Silence blankets the morning air, but it isn’t unpleasant. They never are between you. His very presence is comfort and peace, the kind of aura you can sit in and just be. You could sit beside him for a thousand years of quiet, and you would not be discontent. You throw your head back with a soft sigh, taking a moment to soak up the feeling of a new day.

Pinks and oranges streak the sky, and it’s beautiful. But even the beauty of nature cannot hold your eyes for long. You look over at him. He’s looking at you intently, something on his face you cannot quite place. He looks at you like this sometimes, with such warmth in his eyes that your heart skips madly inside your chest. The tiniest thread of hope sparks within, but you do not hold onto it. You’ve been burned before, and it has left your heart as fragile as glass. 

“What?” His eyes are burning, something is different this time. You shiver, and it isn’t because of the water. 

“I....” he trails off, two white teeth sinking into the soft pink flesh of his bottom lip. He takes a breath, as if steeling himself. “I’m just glad you’re here, with me. Not just in this fucking freezing pool. On this tour. I feel, like you get me. Like I can be my weird ass self and you don’t mind. Like I can sit beside you for hours and just say nothing. Like you’re something I didn’t know I was fucking missing.”

His words are rushed, stumbling, like he’s had them bottled up forever just dying to break free. “I can’t get you out of my fucking head. I’ve wanted to say something, always held back. But in this light, you look like everything I’ve ever fucking wanted, I can’t help myself. Fuck this Arizona sky. You are my sunrise. My messy, beautiful, perfectly imperfect sunrise.”

He’s blushing, mumbling incoherently as he finishes and drops his gaze to his hands under the water. You can’t breathe. His words curl in your chest, and the spark you have never encouraged flares hotly. All this time he was nestling next to your heart, you were coiling around his. 

You don’t know what prompted this sudden confession, and you don’t care. Someone out in the Great Wide Somewhere is granting wishes, and you are not going to waste them.

“Your mouth is damn filthy. Get over here and do something better with it.”

He starts at your words, and then slowly, so slowly, a smile so pure and blinding spreads like liquid gold across his face. You match him, and everything crashes together all at once in a perfect jumble of skin and lips and hearts. 

He feels and tastes better than anything that has come before him. The pale flesh you’ve admired for so long feels like it belongs against yours, like you’ve come home and everything is safe, secure. Soft noises spill from his throat as you curl your fingers in the wet ends of his hair, his own hands like anchors on your hips. You worship at his altar, and he’s like a prayer against your lips.

“You’re my sunrise too, you corny fuck,” you mumble, and he huffs a laugh into your smile.

The sky burns behind you, and everything is golden.


	4. Happier Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s two best friends, just with a little more love to give.
> 
> TW: None

There’s a picture of the two of you on the fridge, faded and worn from years of folding and unfolding. It’s one of your favourites, the two of you bright eyed, grinning, innocent. You’ve got your arms around each other, dirt smeared cheeks pressed together. Two children still enamoured with the world, still painting genuine happiness across their faces. 

You smile fondly, gently running your fingers over the printed image. You remember endless summer days of laughter, of hide and seek and playground visits and popsicles melting on your tongue. Windblown hair, scraped elbows, childhood innocence and wonder splashed across every inch of your golden world. 

Sometimes you wonder if those children knew just how important they’d become to each other. If they knew their sandbox playmate would stop just being the one who held their hand walking home, and become the one who held their heart, the one who would mean home. 

“Morning,” His voice is raspy, thick with lingering sleep. You hum in reply, still staring at the picture as you hear him shuffle over to the coffee pot. Your own cup is growing cold on the counter, forgotten as you are lost in the forest of your thoughts. 

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” His coffee poured, he sidles up beside you, free arm wrapping around your waist as his chin comes to rest on your shoulder. 

“Us,” you say softly, reaching up to brush the back of your hand across his temple. He hums, and nestles closer. “We look so happy, so innocent. Two best friends without a care in the world.”

He spots the picture, and a laugh rumbles through his body. 

“We may look innocent, but we both know we were little shits,” he presses his face into your neck, and you can feel his grin. “A couple of troublesome peas in a pod.”

His words are light, but the meaning is ocean deep. You’re still those two peas, growing together, loving together, learning together. No matter what life has thrown at you, what weeds have threatened to choke you out, you’re still here. Reaching. Thriving. Entwining.

It hasn’t been all sunny days, but every garden needs rain to grow. 

“Do you think we had any idea?” You ask, your eyes still on the two angelic little faces. “Do you think, somewhere deep down, we knew what we’d end up being?”

A soft kiss lands where your neck meets your shoulder, feather light. “I think I always knew I wanted my best friend in my life,” His voice is thick with warm affection, and his arm tightens around you. “I thank my damn lucky stars every day it gets to be like this.”

You reach for his hand that’s splayed on your stomach, fingers tangling with practised ease. “Me too.” 

The two of you stand there for a moment, fondly meandering down memory lane. Every significant moment flashes like lightening through your mind. The first time you saw his true beauty, when you realized touching his bronze skin made your knees wobble like a newborn calf. The first time he kissed you, messy and inexperienced but somehow spine tingling all the same. The first time those three little words were exchanged like precious gifts, the first time you surrendered yourself wholly and completely to his arms. 

He was and is the North star in your heavens, the one you look to when the sky grows dark. The guiding light you cherish; ever present, ever shining, ever yours. 

Suddenly he pulls back from you, a tiny gasp leaving his lips. 

“I forgot!” He exclaims, and you turn to see him reaching for his leather jacket he’d left sprawled across the counter last night. He sets down his mug beside it and rummages in one of the pockets, before producing a Polaroid with a flourish. 

“Andy gave this to me before we left,” he grins, holding it out for you to examine. “A little souvenir of last night’s festivities.”

You look at the new picture, a captured snapshot of a contented moment. Arms around each other, eyes locked as if nothing else exists in the room. Both your lips are molded into incandescent smiles, as genuine as the ones in your childhood photo. It’s two kids grown up, two little souls turned into big brilliant ones. 

It’s two best friends, just with a little more love to give.

He tacks it up on the fridge next to the old photo. “Happy then, happy now,” he says quietly, and the smile on his face as he turns to you tells your entire love story. You smile back at him, reaching up to gently push his soft black hair out of his eyes. He catches your hand as it slides down his face, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. 

“Happy then, happier now,” you correct him, moving to step into the circle of his embrace. He is warm, solid, familiar. The same little boy who hugged you on the playground has kept his arms around you all these years, and you pray for many years to come. 

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. The look in his eyes as he leans in to kiss you says it all.

Happy then, happier now.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly writing RPF for me is very embarrassing but i really like my writing styles here so i finally decided to post. they were posted on my Tumblr (same username) so you may have seen them there. please tell me they are okay and i shouldn't be embarrassed haha


End file.
